


Dropship Confessions

by bellamylover



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Marriage, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-07-25 20:08:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7546141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellamylover/pseuds/bellamylover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of drabbles in The 100 universe</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> marriage in canonverse

“We’re wolves,” Bellamy uttered, looking away from the woods and to her. “Who else would we marry?” Clarke took his hand and clasped hers in his. They looked to the trees together, awaiting the caravan. 

 *

Seated in the tall sunlit grass along the coast of the lake, Bellamy rested his forehead against his knees and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He opened his eyes and turned to her. “The marriage-- Do you want to try?” 

Clarke paused in sifting through flintstones next to him and met his blank, honest gaze. She shifted, deliberating, then closed her eyes with a sigh, and answered, “This marriage-- it’s probably permanent. It’s not going anywhere. It’s not going to disappear. So… I think we should.” 

Bellamy exhaled at her answer, sounding frustrated, and shook his head. “I know we NEED to try. I’m asking-- Do you _want_ to?” At the last sentence, his voice became lower, more intimate and unsure. 

Clarke breathed in his words and tamed the terrified stutter in her chest. He wanted to know not if she was willing to make it work, but if she wanted to give this a shot at all for herself.

She couldn’t say no. Could she deny that she was attracted to him? That she wanted this a little, if she had to bear the crown? That if anyone, it was him, only him she wanted a life with? It was now or never when she answered, because there would be no turning back if she lied. She took a deep breath, lifted her head to look him in the eyes, and told him the truth.

“Yes. Yes, I do.” Her attraction to him bled into her words a little, and she tried to rein in her desperation in these precious few moments. “Do you?”  


Bellamy’s eyes widened at her response, and he immediately shifted a little, his mouth a small o of surprise. Clarke’s heart dipped dangerously fast before she could catch the cold stone of fear. Then Bellamy breathed, “Yes.” He gave a small laugh of relief, and he tilted her chin up with two fingers to look at her. “Yeah, I do.” Clarke exhaled shakily, mostly relieved, and touched her forehead to his. She lifted her hand, touched his cheek with her fingers fondly. She cupped his jaw, holding his face in a caress. Thank God for Bellamy. They would both try to make this marriage something real, not just for the regime, but for themselves. They would try to love each other as husband and wife. Life didn’t have to be so bad all the time after all.

Bellamy’s hand came up and held her wrist between them, an anchor. As she looked on him, the warm affection in his face made her pulse start to dash again, steadier and warmer this time, a little bit laden. His thumb where it touched the skin of her wrist felt hot. Clarke’s blue eyes began to heat up where they met Bellamy’s suddenly deeper ones, and she wondered if this was the moment they were supposed to lean in and kiss. They should, shouldn’t they? But was she ready for a true marriage? Were they ready for a sexual relationship? 

But Bellamy closed his eyes and leaned his head against hers. “Maybe we should do this later,” he whispered. Clarke felt a small whoomph of disappointment in her stomach, but she nodded. She also felt overwhelming relief. Clarke was unsure if they could just jump into a romance.  
As it turned out, they didn’t need to. Over the next few weeks, the casual touches Bellamy and Clarke gave each other for support, comfort, or affirmation suddenly became building blocks towards an unwitting, flowering romance. 

Clarke’s eyes would follow Bellamy after a light brush on her shoulder as he left the room, and he would notice, catching her stare before stepping out. Clarke couldn’t help herself, and it caught Bellamy’s attention that suddenly the small touches and gestures they survived upon each other for were heating up with more licentious meaning than expected. A simple gesture like bringing her fruit in the middle of the day turned from ordinary affection to overt love. Clarke met Bellamy’s gaze as he pressed an apple into her hand, her eyes feeling like they were lined with thick black kohl of egyptian luxury. A small touch to his waist from Clarke, a guiding hand to her shoulder from Bellamy, tucking Clarke’s hair from her face, taking Bellamy’s walkie from his holster-- Anything was enough to provoke intimate, heartstopping gazes between the two. The immediate bloom of warmth and the soft thrill kept them up at night.

One day in their tent, a gesture solely for the purpose of winding one up had a sharp effect. As Bellamy passed behind Clarke to peer over her shoulder at a map she referred to earlier, his fingers brushed across the back of her neck and collarbone where her shirt exposed her skin. His light touch sent shivers up Clarke’s skin; and as Bellamy sat down on the bed, hair messy, she announced that she would sleep in her own tent for the night, her hands wrapping around herself for the sudden chill. 

Bellamy frowned. “But why? The whole point of marriage is for us to be together. And if we’re going to try, that means we should at least sleep in the same tent if we can.” As he spoke, he used her hand to pull her back to him, to the bed they shared. Bellamy and Clarke had already been sleeping in the same tent since signing the contract, but this was the first time Clarke said anything about not staying. 

Clarke gave a small frown, conceded, and, warning herself to put a muzzle on her urges, followed Bellamy into the bed and let him curl around her protectively. But even as Bellamy’s breaths relaxed, she couldn’t sleep. Having Bellamy around her while she was turned on was much worse than being turned on and in the same room as him. She just wanted to crawl up his chest and start kissing him all over, meld her body into his curves and envelop herself in him. Fill herself up with him-- she stopped herself, tried to get her bearings. Pressed against his hard, warm chest, she tried to shut her mind, tried to slow her breathing. Peace just wasn’t coming to her; all she could feel was the slowly building adrenaline. 

Clarke pushed the hair out of her face, breathing heavily. She was sweating as her body heated up. Clarke shifted, and finally gave up. She shrugged out of his hold and headed to the center of the tent where her day clothes were tossed. She grabbed a jacket and struggled to pull out the arms. Bellamy stirred, opened his eyes, sat up on the bed and watched her in puzzlement and mild alarm.  
“Clarke.... Clarke! What’s going on?” 

“I can’t be near you, okay?” Clarke finally burst, dropping her jacket to the floor and turning to him. “I just want to jump on you, I can’t sleep, I can’t relax. I know it’s not the time, so I’m just going somewhere else til I can sleep.” She sighed in defeat and turned away to stare at the brown canvas walls of the tent, angry with herself. 

After a few moments of tense silence, Bellamy spoke slowly. “Clarke…. It’s good that you’re attracted. That’s a good thing for us, for our marriage. Especially because we actually like each other as well.... It’ll happen when it happens, okay? Don’t stress out about it.” Bellamy’s voice was calm, soothing, and Clarke looked at him. He met her gaze steadily, confidently, and held out his hand to her. “And just so you know-- you _must_ know-- I’m attracted to you too. It hasn’t been easy for me either.” Clarke took his hand, and he pulled her to sit by him on the bed. Bellamy fingered a strand of her golden hair, pressed a thumb gently into her cheek. “Look. We’ll take things slow, but you don’t have to resist your feelings. It’s progress, that’s for sure. We’ll make this marriage work yet…. Just let it happen.” 

By the end of his speech, Clarke was in his arms, leaning against him as he stroked the back of her head. She looked up at him and straightened a little, giving him a soft, brief smile. “Okay.” She took Bellamy’s hand into hers, laced her fingers through his. “We’ll do it together,” she said with more confidence, meeting his eyes. Clarke closed her eyes contentedly as she leaned against his chest, grateful. “....Thanks, Bellamy.” 

After a period of silence, Clarke lifted her head to look at him. He was watching her softly, a small smile at the corners of his lips. Clarke met his eyes and then her gaze unwittingly darted to his lips, red and full. When she looked up again the heat in his eyes was different, more concentrated. She felt her body flush when she remembered his words earlier. _“You must know- I’m attracted to you, too.”_

Clarke glanced at his hanging hair, his freckled cheekbones, his brown, dark eyes, and she lifted a hand to touch his face. Her fingers fluttered along the outside of his face, brushing his profile. She rose up underneath him and tilted her head slightly, a hand resting on his chest. Bellamy’s grip tightened around her waist, and he leaned down to meet her lips as her eyes shut close. This moment felt right.

They didn’t kiss right away, just hovered above each other for a few agonizing seconds of hesitant tension. Clark felt his puff of air on her lips and restrained herself from crashing her mouth to his. Bellamy’s breath warmed her lips, tickling her tingling nerves.

Finally lips met in a brush of unconfident lust but certain love. A second brush, a third. Then Clarke’s fingers tightened along his face, her pointer finger tracing the outline of his cheek and then turning in a slide to make way for her thumb as she brought his face down to kiss her fully, to completely inhale his scent. 

Bellamy’s lips met hers completely, working against hers as they began to kiss truly. His lips felt soft, but insistent, over her eager, consuming ones. His hand was on her jaw, thumb dipping under bone, feeling along the junction of muscle and vein. He kissed down the other side of her throat, rose back up to kiss her lips again while she gave short, quick gasps of delight. 

“Okay, okay, okay okay okay,” Clarke gasped out, withdrawing herself. She unwrapped her hands from around Bellamy and put them both on his shoulders, stilling them both and steadying herself. “We have to go slow remember? We’re just kissing, we’ll save the rest for later.”  
“Does that include kissing in other places?” Bellamy asked, catching his breath. His eyes were dark and blown, his cheeks flushed, lips lush and full, brown hair mussed. His freckles twinkled.

Clarke hesitated for a second, before replying, “No.”

They grinned before melting into each other in a dance of love.


	2. found home

Clarke woke up against him, shivering, shivering, shivering. She was so cold-- why was she cold? She was so, so cold. She was in the water, the Reapers were just behind her, Anya was up ahead someplace. She had no home, no home at all, everyone was gone. Everyone’s gone. Gone, gone, gone. Nowhere to go. Hands gripped her elbows tight, she shook, she shook. Clarke looked up. Met pools of deep, deep brown. Inviting, warm brown. She lost herself in them, remembering. Remembering a home. A home made on the ground. The cry escaping from her lips broke and she buried her face into Bellamy’s chest. His arms came around her and squeezed. Shaking, shaking, shaking. Her hand reached up and curled around his warm neck, gripping it tight. One home left. Bellamy and her. She held tighter against his neck, her other hand curled tightly in his shirt over his chest as thoughts of the sea flashed through her mind. The setting sun blinked through her vision, and finally she was seeing the gray of her exhaustion. Clarke fell asleep against Bellamy. 

“Not everything’s dead. Not everything’s dead,” he whispered against her trembling neck. “What’s left that matters?” she muttered against his skin, laced in wayward gout.


	3. she failed him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning this chapter is depressing: bellamy dies

She holds on to him desperately, even as his fingers slide from hers, inch by inch, while he hangs at the side of the cliff, at the mercy of her short strength. She can’t feel anything, but she’s crying with effort and fear. He looks at her, his face desperate and lined with fear. They know what’s going to happen. There’s no one and nothing around to help. Only the dratted pendant they came to fetch and the thermos. “No,” Clarke cries out, refusing to accept fate. But she can’t deny that he’s sliding down her arm, slowly. That she can’t hold on to him. “Clarke,” Bellamy manages out. His gaze remains locked on hers as she chokes on her own desperation. “Bellamy. Please,” she pleads. She’s begging for a change of fate. As her grip loosens to the last few inches, he says, “Take care of them for me,” and closes his eyes. It’s a harsh echo and it cripples her. He falls.

“Bellamy!” Clarke screams. He falls from the side of the precipice. It’s a long way down. The drop is silent, and in despair, she screams as she watches him disappear. She doesn’t hear the crunch of his body on the rocks over the waves crashing against the teeth below. Crouched there, on the edge of the rocks, she gasps for breath as she absorbs that he’s gone. Her heart clenches and unclenches. Panicked, she screams his name again. Louder and louder until she chokes on the tears that stream down her face. The bell goes off in her head, reminding her of the mission they came here to fulfill. The tribes are waiting for the pendant that determines the fate of them all. But Bellamy’s fate is sealed. She can’t undo it. That is what chokes her, over and over again, this fact that her mind just can’t believe. He is so alive. He was just clutching her hand three minutes ago. The wind slaps her and she throws the thought back to thrust herself to what needs to be done. There is no life anymore. He was her. 

All Clarke can think of is the first time he saved her life. He grabbed her the second she fell, and she saw the steel cold expression on his face slip as he struggled to hold on to her arm, determined. Desperation seized her as she dug her fingers into his arm, panicked. She waited for him to let her go, to kill her, but he strained to hold on, his eyes dark, fierce, on hers. Even as he clutched her arm with that unrelenting grip, she saw the thoughts of her death in his mind. She glanced at him and he met her eyes, knowing what he could have, but he refused to let go. 

When it came to her to return the favor, she failed. His eyes were wide and brown as he last looked at her. Desperate and open. 

Clarke turns from the thoughts but they obsess her, haunt her. It was her fault. Her fault. If she’d been stronger. If she’d acted quicker. The guilt aches through her. She feels like she’s dying. She can’t heal when she’s what’s killing herself. She is beyond repair. She never should have connected with Bellamy so strongly, but even through horrifying pain, she can’t regret it. Knowing him was the most generous blessing of her life.

 

They don’t know how he died. She tells them he stumbled on some loose rock over the cliff. She hides what happened to him, even as his eyes haunt her in her mind. Forgetting him takes a will she doubts she has.


	4. no return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> clarke has a sort of breakdown, bellamy is missing

It had been a couple of months at least since Bellamy hadn’t returned.

It was the furtive glances between Abby and Kane and the strained expressions they shared near her that caught Clarke’s attention, the abrupt halt of hushed whispers between Kane and Miller that alarmed her, the suspicious disappearance of walkies from guard when she was around that pulled at the dread in her heart. When she passed by Brian on her way to the medical bay for a quick inventory measure, he responded with a stuttered hi to her greeting, avoiding her glance. He fingered his walkie nervously before turning away to let her go. 

_Maybe today will be the day_ finally vanished from Clarke’s mind when, crossing over the threshold into the med bay, she caught the last words of Sgt. Miller to her mother: “...been painless.” Clarke reeled in a mental gasp, and upon her entrance, Abby and David turned with a start, guilt clouding onto woeful faces and confirming everything Clarke feared. The adults remained silent, observing her. Determined not to jump into the emotional pit opening beneath her, Clarke walked up to a shelf across the room, opened a cabinet to its collection of sanitized needles, and began her count, actions blurred and unfocused under the increasingly frenzied beat of her heart and the thudding in her head. Sgt. Miller spoke. “Thanks, Dr. Griffin. I’ll be on my way now.” Abby replied, “Take care,” as the sergeant walked out. For a moment the only sound was Clarke’s numb fingers mindlessly fumbling through iv packets. She could feel Abby’s gaze on her but didn’t turn around. When she heard the scrape of Abby opening a drawer, the word “painless” fluttered through Clarke’s mind with a bold glare. Unable to stop herself, she felt bile rising in her stomach and a thick wad of cloth buoy into her throat, straight behind her face. She gently placed the packets down and stepped quickly and quietly out of the clinic, only giving herself a few moments before her stoic mask slipped.

Clarke headed straight towards Raven’s empty tent; it was nearby, and no one would immediately expect to retrieve her there. She began seeing shaky, blurred surroundings and her face felt wobbly as she crossed the dirt encampment. She’d just entered the small hut when her face crashed, giving way to big, gasping sobs and thick sheets of mucus in despair. She put her hand to her mouth as tears dropped in unprecedented succession, trying to hold her sorrow at bay, but to no avail; her sorrow rose out to devastate in full, and she forced herself to catch quick breaths as she cried, sitting on the dirt floor of Raven’s tent, alone. No amount of wiping could penetrate the sheen of tears and mucus that covered her face, and at the next loud sob she grabbed one of Raven’s shirts, swiped at her face with it, balled it up and stuffed it into her mouth to cover the helpless wails. 

Shuddering and shrinking into herself, her muffled sobs turning into hitched whimpers, Clarke tried to control herself, to breathe calmly-- it was futile. It felt like she’d lost her world. She felt like a babe. _It was unconfirmed, they had to be talking about Bellamy, but it didn’t mean he was dead, didn’t mean they found his body-- his body._ She cried painfully, unable to contain her fear.

The tent opened as Raven thrust inside, a big bag clutched in her hands. Raven dropped it with a clunk when she saw Clarke in her pathetic state, and she rushed in, concerned. “Clarke!” She crouched down next to Clarke, lifting Clarke’s head from her drawn up knees and moving Clarke’s wet hair out of her face to look at her. “What’s wrong, what happened?” Clarke rocked, trying to gulp down her terror, struggling to still her shivering and clear her airways enough to speak. After a minute, Raven wrapped her arms around Clarke’s curled form, pulling her head onto her shoulder and keeping it there. At this, Clarke broke again, went completely limp against Raven’s shirt, crying, and pushed out, “What if he’s gone, w-what if he’s gone.” Raven was quiet for a moment, searching helplessly for any solacing response. 

Finally, she answered, strained, “Then… you’ll live.” Clarke paused, and Raven braced herself for the anger to come her way. Then she heard Clarke speak, sadly. “I know I will, but I want him.” Her tone was so plaintive. Raven could hear the distinct note of hopeless pain in her voice, and it felt more familiar to her than her pulse. Clarke took a deep breath to speak again. “I know I took Finn from you. I’m sorry.” Raven’s gut didn’t clench like it used to, but the swoop of sorrow still entered her stomach at the mention of his name. Memories of Finn were both haunting and ordinary, and now the feeling of home belonged only in her childhood. “He was your family,” Clarke went on, looking up. “How did you do it?”

Raven focused on the question, remembering the weeks, months, after Finn’s death. “I… worked. Tinkered with the brace.” Raven’s hand strayed to her leg. “Learned to drive, learned to ride a horse. Built a life around myself.” She looked at Clarke and paused. Touched Clarke’s shoulder gently. “Sinclair… he helped. He was like a second family.” Raven blinked a little and stopped. 

The two sat in silence for a while, hearts hurting. Eyes closed, head on her knees, Clarke sniffed. Her eyes watered her jeans in silence. Finally, Raven spoke again. “Forgetting doesn’t make it easier, Clarke. But-- but dulled memories, they do.” With that, she leaned her head onto Clarke’s shoulder, then heaved a broken sigh and rose up with a creak of her brace and a groan of her own. She stared down at the girl wiping her tears by the sunken bed furs, and stuck a hand out. Clarke looked at Raven, took her hand, and stood up. The two considered each other as they stood there, regarding each other’s red rimmed eyes. “You can stay here if you like. But clean yourself up before you get back out there.” Raven hooked a finger over her shoulder towards the tent flap. “You don’t want to give anyone a heart attack, seeing the mighty Clarke Griffin like this,” Raven smirked. “You ruined my favorite shirt,” Raven added with a wrinkled nose as she glanced at the wad Clarke had spit onto the floor. At Clarke, she shrugged, then gave a small, watery smile. “I’ll get it cleaned.”

Clarke forced out a small smile that barely dipped her cheeks, and then stepped in to hug her. “Thank you, Raven.” She reminded herself to breathe evenly.  
“Anytime, princess.” Instead of letting go, Raven held her close and added quietly, “And Clarke-- remember. If there really isn’t any hope, it does get easier.” Clarke nodded, extracted herself, and watched her go. Then the sob hitched in her throat broke, and she turned away from the door.


	5. massage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fluff again

Clarke sat on the bed, trying not to wince at the screams of her shoulders. “Here,” Bellamy said softly, moving from the table and sinking down onto the bed next to her, a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll give you a massage.”

Clarke turned to him, her brow wrinkled. “What?” 

“A massage,” he replied confidently. “I had to give them to Octavia all the time. Especially when she got too big for the cramped space under the floor.” Clarke’s eyes dropped momentarily, imagining his life on the Ark, and then turned her back to him, mulling it over. She heard Bellamy give a sigh, and then felt his hands roll over her shoulders, pressing down on the junction between her neck and shoulders. The movement immediately relieved some tension in her shoulders, causing them to drop, and she barely kept a groan from escaping her. He pressed down more there, increasing the pleasurable sensation, before she gave up and scooted backwards on the bed, into the space between his legs. “Just as long as it’s quick,” she conceded over his muffled laugh.

It had been five minutes, and every press against her shoulders, back, and side had Clarke relaxing more and more. She never wanted it to end. Bellamy made his way down, covering all the muscles, and another press into the curve of her back with his thumbs made Clarke groan again. She wasn’t even holding back anymore, just sighing as she propped her head back onto his shoulder. He had done her neck and between her shoulder blades first, and the moment he’d gotten down to her back she just went limp. It was distracting to feel her breaths on his cheek, but he stayed on target, remembering all the things he’d learned from Octavia. Her muscles often cramped up, especially because she couldn’t do much exercise in one room. One last press into her hips, and Clarke let out another moaned sigh. “Clarke,” he said lightly. 

“Mmm?” she hummed, eyes closed. “It’s done,” he whispered, trying not to disturb her. He put a hand on her waist, attempting to encourage her out of the cage of his legs. Instead her eyes slid half-open and she turned her head towards him where it rested on his shoulder blade. One of her hands reached up and clutched his hair. “Bellamy,” she murmured, her voice a little raspy. Bellamy felt a lurch in his groin. She kept shifting, and while his attempts to deflect thoughts of her while she was getting the massage were mildly successful, he wasn’t sure if he could keep it up with her pressing into his lap.  
Clarke put her other hand over his on the bed, sectioning her fingers through his, and yanked his head down by the hair, pressing small kisses along his neckline. She seemed half-conscious. “Clarke.” Bellamy said, stern this time, and separated himself from her, putting some distance between them and effectively halting her. His hands framed her waist, not touching her, but a precaution to keep her away. 

Clarke startled without his shoulder to support her and turned around, her eyes widening slowly as she realized what she’d done. She met his eyes and during the few awkward seconds, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She looked away as she moved away from him over the bed. She hadn’t meant to show her feelings for him, but she’d become unguarded.

“Massages have that effect,” Bellamy said, his baritone voice easing into her thoughts, kind as he met her gaze. His hands were playing with hers, suspending them in midair under his own as he balanced her soft skin over his rough callouses. His fingers traced circles into her wrists, not even noticing what he was doing. Clarke’s heart softened, feeling a swoop of fondness for him in her chest. He was her comfort, kind.

“What if I wanted to?”

He looked at her, hands stilling. He regarded her watchfully, only a hint of perplexed curiosity betrayed through his eyes, and she knew he wouldn’t respond. She hadn’t made a point.

Clarke shifted towards him, and saw the change over his face. His eyes widened slightly and his mouth parted, surprised and mildly panicked. She watched his tentative uncertainty while coming closer to his unmoving frame, bringing her lips to his. He didn’t stop her this time, just watched, and his eyes fluttered shut when she slid her mouth over his. She pressed down, kissing him softly, a hand fluttering over his collarbone between them for balance.  
At first, Bellamy didn’t respond. But then his mouth began to slide over hers, pressing back. Experimenting the possibility. 

Clarke didn’t know how good it would be. She kissed him shyly at first, but then they began kissing earnestly, tilting their heads for better angle. Clarke’s hand cupped his cheek, and one of Bellamy’s hands trapped her wrist on the bed as they began reaching a rhythm of back-and-forth.


	6. fireworks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> superfluous kissing fluff

Standing in the empty hallway, blue walls reflecting the flickering white fluorescent lights, Clarke took the final step towards Bellamy, who was looking down at her. A hand reaching up to cup one cheek, she leaned up and kissed him experimentally, unsure. He paused for a moment, and Clarke wondered if she had been right in asking. But when he tilted his head, cupped her head, and ran a tongue over his lips, her mouth slotted against his, her eyes fluttered closed, and her lips parted with tenderness, inviting and vulnerable. They kissed, deep, through every brushing, lingering, aching moment of drawn seconds.

With a noisy flicker from the wan light glaring down at the humming, ghostly hallway, Clarke and Bellamy drew apart just a bit, taking a breath to look at each other, hands still lingering at each other’s faces. Clarke’s thumb stroked his cheek, her eyes following his freckles, her nose only an inch apart from his. She exhaled shakily as Bellamy gently rested his forehead against hers and smiled. He brushed a strand of her hair out of her eyes to look at her. Clarke lifted her eyes to meet his, saw from his blown pupils and fluttering eyes that he concurred. Their kiss had been... relief. It had been an arsenal of flickering, burning fireworks suddenly tangible. Like a well of prosperous water, it seemed to dip into this hidden chalice of abundant goodness-- pure beauty that she’d formerly been unaware of. 

It was momentous, luxurious, and humbling to be there with him, breathing the same air, close to each other and intimate the way only they could be. Kissing him had been more weighty and precious than anything she had ever felt before, as her squeezing heart could attest to; and as Clarke breathed Bellamy in, warm and husky and so so familiar, she thought of how much she wanted him to be her partner in everything. She was ready. She had been ready for a long time, but this step marked the transition from conception to reality. This is the way they were perfect together-- partners in every way.

In a second her mouth was back on his, insistent yet giving, and even as Clarke pushed his body back towards the wall with every ministration of her mouth, Bellamy gave it to her just as well, his kisses on beat with hers, timed to a rhythm that took her heated kisses and turned them steady, languid. He caught every new one with quick ease and slowed it down so they were drumming together to a smooth beat of calm, rising, building desire that spiked, slowed, and rose once more. As much as Clarke pushed him, Bellamy pulled her with him. That they were perfect this way was undeniable.


	7. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pre season 3, post season 2 spec on Bellamy and Clarke's reunion. full of angst, NOT fluff. not resolved, just a speculation on how they might meet on the show.

She comes across him in a clearing after the searchers of the tribe split across. She noticed that some Arkers had wandered through the mission she embarked upon but they hadn’t spotted her, who blended easily with shadows. The memories pierced at her with the presence of her old company, but months of blocking enabled her to disregard the emotion that poked at her. They must have noticed what the Grounders had-- the rover that flew through camp and sat, then flew back through the forest and mysteriously disappeared. As another Grounder passes before her, ignoring the form of an Arker ahead in the trees, since the Grounders and the Arkers are under a loose but uncertain peace, her vision clears and his image comes through. With surprise, sudden hope jumps within her, foolish and flowering. Sparking like cut wires. She could cut it down but it’s so quick and deep it catches her off-guard.

 

“Bellamy.” Clarke looks at him, open and relieved. She wondered if he was alright, even though she tried erasing him from her mind, succeeding only in long bursts. He stands there near her, angled towards the opening in the trees, looking onward as always. Dressed in furs and boots, a gun slung over his shoulder as usual, he looks hard-worn, a streak of dirt decorating his firm jaw. Concerned, he shoots a glance in her direction.

His eyes widen and then narrow in an instant. And Bellamy is suddenly shut to her, frozen in a closed expression. His face says nothing to her. No welcome, no concern. Weathered skin glazes over, but his eyes are sharp and alive. His mouth remains clenched as he nods at her. He sees her attire, her new Grounder identity, but he doesn’t comment. After a moment of silence, he says, evenly, “Clarke.” His impassiveness is betrayed by the sharpness in his eyes and the slightly defensive hunch in his shoulders. Yet the disregard with which he says her name catches Clarke within. She doesn’t expect his presence to be so powerful. His eyes are back to the grounds, watching, observing, frowning. 

A few breaths of silence and Clarke speaks, her resolve erected once again, weary from lessons of life but disturbed by this new Bellamy, who unsettles her. She knows that whatever has closed up between them is a new truth, that she deserves to be treated this way. She knows that she must accept it and forge forth, herself, as she would usually do, but the surge of memories working with Bellamy, depending on him, has her unsteady. She wants to go back to him. He’s Home. It isn’t true any longer, and she turns away from the thoughts. Shuts off the sweetness that he brings inside. Life isn’t favorable even though the position they used to have together was. 

She steps forward, towards the trees, looking for their enemy. “Are the rovers here?” she implores, steadily. His gruff voice answers her, his eyes still scoping their surroundings. “Not that I see.” Then he walks ahead into the trees. Away from her. Clarke watches him, as the man she once knew and then abandoned leaves her presence.

 

He wishes Clarke hadn’t called his name. The bitterness inside his stomach has become palpable and it rotates slowly, as he tries to stop it. After months of wanting to see her, simply have a glimpse of her, or better yet, her return, the emotion which hit him upon seeing her again surprises him. He does his best to damp it down from his face, but the truth is undeniable- he doesn’t trust her. He knows it’s unfair. Yet she abandoned him. His mind churns through the unbearable days at camp watching over the others and flinging thoughts of blood and loss away from his mind, one after another until they swarmed over him and submerged him, taking him down with them. Lost. The struggle of summoning the strength to force himself to move and behave as though there were still meaning in life was solely a mental effort and for his own benefit. Barely escaping with his sanity, the sense of hopelessness finally dissipated, but the hard anger that came with the success didn’t. It would have been easier with her. They weren’t just his people- they were hers too and she knew it. When they first came down on the dropship, she was the one who convinced him to take care of them. To defend them. But it was a lie. When it came to the sickly sludge that could pull them down into the sinkhole at any moment after the war was done, she left him alone to fight. After leaving him vulnerable to her influence. 

He knows these thoughts aren’t fair, but they are bombarding him and he struggles to pull them down. Yet the stone that has developed with the trial of facing the mental weights day by day on his own latches on to the thoughts and brings them with it. Suddenly a part of him is grabbing that resentment with its claws, hanging on tight. He swallows, knowing that the most he can do to hide his feelings is form a cage over his face. And there is the absorptive power of the feeling that she is not to be trusted. He can’t help it, but suddenly she is an unknown or enemy. Alien. He separates himself from her despite the memories that float towards him, reminding his eyes of the security between their joint leadership. 

He wanted to ask her what she knew about the rover but with the feelings that assaulted him the minute he saw her, he didn’t trust himself to speak, couldn’t allow the perturbing effects she created in him continue any longer. It’s too late. The anger and mistrust pushes at him, the betrayal coursing through him again and again as he hunts through the trees, searching for the ship. _Eyes on the goal_ , he reminds himself. _Don’t get distracted._ Curiosity sparks beneath him anyways. She was dressed in Grounder clothing. She had a sword with her. Her hair was braided and pulled back. Even her eyes were decorated with kohl designs. She stood like a warrior but she spoke the way she always had with him. The small note of reserve in her question could have been for a number of reasons. Was she afraid of communicating with him? Perhaps but more likely it was that new warrior in her, or the distrust between them. She had joined the Grounders. Grounders who weren’t their enemies any longer- but Bellamy still felt his face morph into a slight scowl. Wiping it from his face with resolve, he began zooming through the possibilities even as his eyes searched for a glimpse of that rover from the sky. Is that what she had been doing these past months? Joining the Grounders, training to be a Grounder? Working with Lexa? As he rotted in the sun guarding the gates and hunting boars. He hadn’t gotten the chance to escape. 

Now she was searching for the rover, just like him. Could rovers camouflage? Could they perch behind trees? From what Jaha had told them it was an insanely modern device. Finding no spark of light to allude to its metal frame, Bellamy resumed hunting the trees for the Arker’s alleged allies.

 

Clarke turns to a new direction, searching for the rover. Anything to get her mind off this new relationship with Bellamy. The lack of one, that is. It leaves her feeling lost. But the warrior in her doesn’t let her grab at the feeling of sorrow. Hunt. Kill. Conquer. _Move._ it commands and she steps forward, searching for that betraying glint of light on metal the rover brought with it. No one at camp was sure, amidst the panic and fear of the unknown, what exactly the device that hung around them, flying through the trees, did. But she could guess. Sitting and watching, reporting. Recording? In this world, there were secret societies under every rock. Who knew what sort of unfathomable technology this one employed. 

When she first came to the ground, the idea was that it was unsurvivable. Then, when it was survivable, at least they were alone. But no, that was untrue as well. Humans who survived the waves of radiation built societies and lived off crude tools, dependent on the moving nature around them to survive, dodging gruesome monsters who fed off them in the dark. Then the men in gas masks invaded her camp and locked her in a white cage, using technology she hadn’t seen since the Ark, forcing her to doubt everything she thought was true. They were the ones who created the Reapers; they even held missiles. Discovering that dining hall, full of people enjoying luxuries she only dreamed of was the last surprise, she’d have thought, if she hadn’t realize by then that on Earth, anything was possible. Now there were flying robots observing them in the dark, programmed to report to God knows what. 

She wondered what she’d find once she speared one with her knife and dissected it. She’d need someone like Monty to decipher it, if the commander let her. There wasn’t a person in the tribe who understood this sort of technology. _Monty._ Her mind landed on his name and stopped, and she shook it off as she shrugged away the names of Arkers hundreds of times in the past three months. Tragedy wrecked people, and she couldn’t let it back in to destroy her. She’d just now built the shielding wall. Sure, it blocked off emotions, made her muggy to deep sentiment, erased the definitions of right and wrong in a haze of red glory, but that was better than drowning in what she’d done. Life performed this way and it was better to follow its path and keep moving, rather than to hold to a plant and absorb its poison while it rotted. _Accept reality_ , she told herself. _Don’t ponder. Skim over the rot and the glory, the emotions that will entrance and trap you._ Even then you could still die. Luck and skill kept you alive. That and keeping your head straight and out of the mud. She gazed at her surroundings harshly, catching details in her glimpses, determined not to miss anything. The power she felt within her muscles held her in confidence. Sprung in a spark. The command to kill and the survival order, inherent, were only enhanced by the training at the Grounder camp. Now, emotion deflected easily from her surface as her resolve to live locked in strong.


	8. awkward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Speculative drabble based on @rashaka’s prompt of a Bellarke almost-kiss and them being awkward about it! Based on this post: http://rashaka.tumblr.com/post/152282074462/just-on-the-off-chance-that-it-happens-and-for

Picture: Bellarke is feeling super duper awkward about it. Clarke can’t get her mind off of it either. They’re planning a scouting mission with Abby and Kane and Raven and Monty and the other delinquents. Bellamy sorts people in groups as Clarke explains what the mission is and why it’s important they get something, and other logistical matters.

Clarke internally ignores the topic on her mind because she’ll get distracted, but whenever she glances at him–and away, quickly–whenever she has a quiet moment, her thoughts immediately go to ‘Why did Bellamy not want to kiss me,’ and ‘Has this ruined us.’ By some means they are paired off alone together, and they walk side by side in silence.

A threat comes along in the form of an enemy person, ruthlessly hunting or searching. Bellamy and Clarke immediately stuff themselves into the hollow of a tree. Bellamy is around her, facing her back, and she can feel his quiet presence.

She half turns. And their position is already so so intimate, but now their faces are close as well.

~

“Bellamy..” she whispers, finally trying to broach the subject. They need to talk about it.

And he can feel how much she wants to talk about it, but he definitely does not want to.

Jaw clenching, he turns his head away into the dark, giving a half shake in dismissal, as though it doesn’t matter.

It does. She insists, her heart suddenly struck with the fear that he’s angry with her. Aloud Clarke asks, a little desperate, lost, putting a hand to his shirt and another to turn his cheek to her, “Are you mad at me?”

She sounds so tortured, and Bellamy turns his head in surprise at the question, the sudden vulnerability, the utter wrongness of the proposition. 

“No.. Clarke… Why would you think that?”

“Then what is it? Why wouldn’t you kiss me?” Clarke bursts out, not at all what she was planning to ask. Her tongue betrayed her.

Bellamy’s face, one of concern, changes to one of resignation. “Clarke,” he says, and drops his head onto her forehead with a sigh.

She waits for him, breaths audible in the silence, mingling in the dimness. She can see the blue hues reflecting dimly on the edges of the planes of his face, then as she flits her eyes up, in the reflections of his eyes under dark lashes.

She can feel the warmth off him where he’s curved around her body. She’s turned all the way around at this point, facing him, hands having grabbed his elbows, now slowly sliding down to his wrists, still waiting as she blinks up in concern into his eyes.

“I….” Bellamy starts, and stops. His voice sounds like a rockfall to Clarke. It’s deeper, heavier, uncertain. Like gravel rolling over each other in his throat. She feels a warmth flow through her, tries not to look at him, just listen, and holds her breath as she waits for him to continue. Her hair is sliding down and now hangs around her like a curtain, shallowing their breaths.

But she can’t help it. She looks at his eyes; they’re huge now, all dark. She looks down at his lips, maps the flush of them, the indentations, the lead to corners and the juts of the top. It’s when she’s analyzing the curve of his bottom lip that she remembers herself.

He still hasn’t said anything, just looking at her now, and she sees in his glittering eyes shadows in torment, at war with each other. Why won’t he move.


	9. Wild Heathens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween prompt!!!

Clarke wakes up when she hears the long whine of an animal in death, echoing between the mountain walls, bumping into trees in the woods before it dies out. An answering whoop confirms her supposition, and she abandons her nap under the tree to stalk around the bend of pines, backpack in tow. The hunt for food must have been a success. 

Bellamy rises up from his crouch over the body, blood dripping from his mouth, eyes wild. His hands are dark and still. Clarke meets his eyes, then looks back at the carcass under him. She reaches down and slices apart the skin, peeling the fat from the muscle underneath and inspecting it. “Thanks,” she huffs, looking up. “You’re bleeding.” Bellamy swipes a hand across his nose, stares at the blood on his hand. He can’t tell the difference. An arker, several meters behind, takes a step back. 

“Here,” Clarke says and grabs a rag from her pocket. She scrubs it across his face. It only serves to smear the dark liquid around, so she uses her thumb to wipe off his upper lip and cheek. Bellamy pauses and stares at her, and Clarke meets his gaze, not minding his discomfort a bit. “Keep the blood away from your mouth, you don’t know what diseases that moose had,” is all she says. “Miller!” Bellamy barks, without breaking his eye contact with her. “Come help us.” 

Miller lopes over from a few scraggly trees away, head beanie-clad, and shoves his arms under the corpse. It makes a squelching sound. Jasper joins him in a few seconds. The two heave the dead body with grunts, its legs spilling over the side of their grip. Clarke observes them, packing up her med kit and giving Murphy a pat on the shoulder to let him go. Bellamy grabs the other animal by its horns and heaves its head up over his arms. He bends down and hoists the animal to catch its torso quickly, arms straining. He walks slowly, staying by Clarke’s side as the two trudge back to camp behind the others.

In the stillness of the cold woods, brown trunks weaving over them waving orange leaves from scraggly branches, Bellamy and Clarke find moments of collective peace. “So,” Bellamy grunts. “Is it enough to feed the camp?”

“Between the two, yes,” Clarke replies, observing him. He’s carrying the deer remarkably well. “I’ve noticed that the two-headed ones are more muscular. It’s curious because there aren’t many of them, so the trait isn’t dominant. But they do have two sets of eyes, maybe that’s it.”

“We’ll see if they have two sets of brains soon enough,” Bellamy remarks as the camp gates emerge from behind the tall dry grass. The guards stare at the delinquents’ bloodied frames as the group approaches the gates. Arkers’ heads turn to stare when the gates slide open. 

Almost unconsciously, the citizens shift away as the delinquents make their way to the carving block. Miller and Jasper slap the moose onto the slab of rock, its body hitting stone with a wet smack. Blood sprays up over them. After dumping the body of the deer with a thunk onto the other side, Bellamy extricates his axe from his belt. Clarke puts a hand over his and hands over her small knife. “Better to preserve the skin. Take good care of it, we’ll need it,” she says with a thick pat to the bloodied fur and heads off to medical to wash up. Her skin is painted red like a fiery sunset.

Raven skips over from mechanic when she realizes they brought back a kill, her ponytail swinging cheerfully. “Is that deer I smell?” she asks, bending to drag her broken leg. “I’ve waited too long.” 

“We’ve got even better,” Monroe drawls. She gestures to the bigger animal. “Feast your eyes on a bull moose.” Raven cocks her head as she considers the glorious kill. She doesn’t drool, but her stomach growls. “Does Octavia know about this one?”

Murphy huffs in mirth. “She’ll find out soon enough. Til then it’s mine.”

Bellamy considers them, looking up from skinning the deer, and Monroe slaps Murphy in the side sharply, giving him a mean grimace. “Everyone’s hungry. Stop ogling and carve this bitch up.”

The other delinquents visit to express their pleasure, and with renewed vigor, work on carving the meat. Monty helps to skin. Murphy and Monroe hack off the muscular limbs, while Miller and Jasper pull out the organs, chucking them onto another flat rock for spare food. 

Children stop to stare at the production and grab their friends to whisper excitedly about their flawed heroes. The adult arkers wrinkle their noses in distaste and try to return to their work. The guards turn back to the woods beyond the gate.

At the border of camp, Octavia jumps down from a tree by the woods, rolling to a crouch when she hits the wild ground. Myles joins her on the weedy slope from another tree, and they straighten, surveying the scene inside. “It’s time to cook,” Octavia says with a smirk as the guards back from them in surprise.

Kane and the rest of the Arkers stare in horror at the criminal children up their elbows in blood and guts. The group’s wry laughter and strange jokes that have their teeth showing in sharp grins scare them. They cannot recognize the humans, these aliens, sent down ahead of them. The delinquents are a pack of wild heathens.


	10. Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dream I had about the 100 in canon universe. Clarke POV. It's not the cringeworthy type, it was actually really real and frightening. (Note- yes I know 60 days does not equate to 3 months. But it did in my dream. For the sake of preserving the feel, I have left that in.)

Near the border of the sparse woods, Bellamy and I stay clear of drones. Projects within the military are all targeting us; we finally figured it out after spending days dodging relentless attacks. It’s hard but when we suspect they see us, we keep hidden. We’re trying to make our way back to camp, miles away, without being spotted. Slow progress. The rest of camp is all back there, ALONE, without us. We’re supposed to take care of them…. Guilt and worry aches in me. We needed to know if the military nearby would be willing to help with medicine, but got stranded by drone activity shooting at us all the way here. That answered our question about their goodwill. I feel grief over the loss of Raven’s leg. She lost the use of it a few days ago. I need to get back to her.

“Clarke.” I look to Bellamy. He’s scouting the military base region, a distance away past where the woods turns into barren desert. I focus on the expanse of khaki dust before us. Before the desert meets the horizon, there are small black dots moving in our direction. People. Coming. 

“It’s your family,” he says with surprise. What? I move to him, grab the glass. He’s right. They trudge casually across the danger zone in broad daylight. It’s not possible. What are they doing here? HOW did they get here? Why are they here?

There’s nothing I can do as they travel across the land, coming closer. Bellamy keeps watch as I wait tersely. Trying to put faces on those black dots. Trying to understand. Why are they here? We need to get back to camp. 

They are traveling so conspicuously, it puts us in huge danger. Leading the drones right to us. But I can’t leave without an explanation. Bellamy and I slip towards their location within the shadows of trees. We wait.

“They’re here.”

I turn and look up at the grassy crest rising just by me. Shifa crosses it first, and shock spikes through me, to see her truly here. Then Mummy, then Baba, then the rest of them all come. They look like they’re made of play doh. Round and unscarred. 

If that used to be normal, I have no idea what I look like now.

“Yumna! We haven’t seen you in so long!” Mummy grabs me and hugs, squeezing me tight. I say nothing. “We missed you.” This is why they came. To see me, as tourists might. People outside think this alienated, sectioned-off place is some thrilling game. They know nothing about this land. These dirt and trees and mountains are not luxury. Those here are trapped on the ground, this endless fight. We fight everyday to live, and still some of us die. They should have stayed where they were.

I feel dissonance. They shouldn’t have come. They don’t belong here at all. Raven needs me. Sadness of her tragedy pulls at my mouth, but I keep my face still.

Bellamy asks, from a distance, how they got here. Baba tells us, beaming, “The military base gave us a boat ride across the ocean. From there we walked.” Our disappointment is huge. The military that wants to kill Bellamy and me. There is no way out of here. My family can’t help us. They’re trapped now, too.

Do they have a plan to get back? Or did they come here and expect me to take care of them and their comforts? Do they not realize how impossible it is to leave?

I turn away. We need to get back to Raven, to the rest of camp half a planet of mountains away, across scraggly shrubs, cool trees, and radiating dirt. They are waiting for us.

Bellamy understands that I’m leaving them stranded. I don’t feel anything for them. We live in a different world now. But he grabs my shoulder and speaks quietly to me as Shifa and the rest of my family observe in awe the wilderness around them. 

“Family is giving each other chances, Clarke. Are you telling me you’re okay with letting them go without giving them a chance?”

Bellamy is safety, security, trust. If Bellamy supports this… there must be something right about it. With consideration and an uncertain heart, I stick to my family, and Bellamy and I travel aimlessly through the woods with them. We can’t travel back to the camp right away. Not with the drones watching. 

I haven’t told them about the target on my back. As far as I can tell, the drones are only aiming for the children in the playing field. There must be some outside restriction held up for civilians. I am uncertain. Does entering this ground make my family fair game? Either way there is no point in saying anything. I cannot teach them to properly hide in these woods. They are not made for it. Bellamy and I can barely remain invisible from the drones ourselves.

But even as we travel with them so conspicuously, not one drone attacks us. Bellamy and I walk carefully through the trees in suspicion. None of them are taking the opportunity. Why? 

After a while of observation, Bellamy falls in step beside me as I hike over green sprigs and rooted dirt. “Here’s the drone status,” he reports, commandingly but discreet. “The Friends Military Project no longer wants to attack, but Family Base Project still does. The Green Safety Squad has let down its attack formation….” I listen intently, absorbing the information. Each name brings to mind a specific banner. He continues, listing off the status of the drones that were a threat to us. For the large part, we are safe. We make our way onwards through the deep green foliage, back towards home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

60 days. 3 months. That’s how long I was there. On my own. It was dust and nature and desolation… the sun’s heat… rolling in the grime, all of us there living together in an unforgiving world. It was untethered wildness, and base one, simply survival. Every day was a trial for life a thousand different ways. It was my world.

Days of walking, days of pain, of striving, all harshness a regularity. To survive we had to use moonshine on injuries. There was no other way to clean it. If you didn’t use the burning alcohol, the wound would get infected and you would die. Monty would ferment the moonshine…. No clean water to wash with either. Everything we needed we had to work for.

There was no doctor, just me. I think of the kids who needed me. Hands sporting shallow red wounds, gripping wrists to keep dislodged bones in place, among greenery and shadows and a tiny peek of blue tent canvas. Raven sitting propped… her leg in danger of becoming useless. 

The trauma of the bodies collected…. There is no going back from that place. It is me, in me, all me. It is my world.

Sometimes my dreams bring me back… and the reminder of its intensity leaves me gasping. It is nothing but a serious universe. My family has not heard me speak a word about the place although it’s been many months. I wish to go back even as its scars scare me. I would know what to do there. I had a family there to take care of. Here, I don’t belong anymore, not inside. 


End file.
